


If There's Someone There, Please Save Me

by LoreleiOnTheRocks



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Affairs, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Bar Scenes, Dark Comedy, Drag Queens, Drug Addiction, Flashbacks, Halucinations, M/M, Rape, Revenge, Sexual Content, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoreleiOnTheRocks/pseuds/LoreleiOnTheRocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi Riavalle Ackerman went from a top medical surgeon to a local strip club bar tender in a matter of weeks because of a crime  that he did not commit. His tipsy life seems to be capsizing before his eyes as he becomes witness to the addiction of alcohol and hallucinogenics, when he is saved from death by an "angel," who turns out to be a young, insomniac nurse named Eren Yeager. Levi finds out that Eren is in a similar situation. In Levi's strained and crumbling world, will he find salvation in a least expected place?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: You Could've Have It So Much Better

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, and welcome to my first story on AO3!  
> Just a few warnings:  
> -Sexual Content  
> -Rape  
> -A little bit of OOC characters.  
> -This is Levi speaking, so there's going to be at least a few offensive words/phrases.  
> -Domestic violence  
> -Near death occurrences  
> and  
> -A (possible) serial rapist.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy!

**Prologue: You Could've Had It So Much Better **

 

 

 

**_“How did we end up here?_ **

**_This place is horrible…_ **

**_It smells like balls.”_ **

\--Michael Keaton, _Birdman._

 

It irks me that I’m surrounded by whores. That I have to serve people who are under-aged and drinking. That I’m surrounded by strippers and drag queens. That I have had to duck in and out of sight just to maintain my composure, because I’m pretty damn sure that I have epilepsy or some never-ending hangover because my head spontaneously stabs itself when the strobes are on.

Which is almost every second of my miserable shift.

It also irritates me that I have to be the only responsible one in this shit hole. I have to be designated driver, every night, no tips included. God, how did I end up here? With all of these unclean, horny freaks? And the fact that I’m supposed to serve them and make their toxic lives even more toxic makes it even worse. They’re all brats, all these people who come here. They can’t live for themselves, they feel the need to be a part of the crowd. That God-awful crowd.

I, Levi Ackerman, had so much potential. So much fucking potential, yet I could never shine out with the stars. Heck, I have a fucking _Harvard Medical degree_! I worked twelve fucking years to get that, and then I got _this_.

 _This_ fucking disorder, of all the ones. God, it pained me when I found out the least curable disease had poisoned me in my heart. And that one time that got me kicked out for good, which I didn’t even try to do, it was forced upon me by a perpetrator that claimed I had done _it_ to him because God forsake those who get raped by trophy wife-toting Dr. Melford Marlow.

I guess it’s not so much a disorder, but more of a hindrance to being successful in life. So now, here I am with a bunch of slutty teens draped on each other and strobe lights that cause my head to practically explode, all because of one guy who took advantage of me. Not to mention that I’m still suffering from it. And it doesn’t help that I can’t go to one of those AA meetings for rape, because there’s not one that exists in lovely, _lovely_ Carol County, Alabama for raped males. And I can’t go into the female group because they don’t really like people with male appendages. And then there is the discrimination, but don’t get me started on that…

But God, the worst thing is just falling from the social totem because I’m gay. It sucks. It _sucks_. Oh God, it _SUCKS_!


	2. Go Back, Jack; Do It Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This is the first official chapter of "If There's Someone's There, Please Save Me!" Ah, I'm super excited! This chapter's a little longer than the prologue--well, about 1,500 words longer. Hopefully I'll be able to update this story more often! I just recovered from a severe case of-gasp!-WRITER'S BLOCK! Haha, yeah, fortunately, I don't think it's contagious. but I'm really looking forward to my future writings, and I hope you all do, too! Oh, if you'd rather read this on fanfiction.net, I'll be posting it there under the name, MintyMintMints.
> 
> Ok, enjoy!

* * *

**"Well, it's not the men in your life that counts, it's the life in your men."**

\--Mae West, _I’m No Angel_.

 

_brrrrRRRRIIIIIIINNGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! brrrrRRRRIIIIIIIGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! brrrrRRR-!!_

“SHUDDUP, YOU GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKIN’ ALARMACLOCK!” I screech, slamming my hand down on the screaming digital clock that sits on my bedside table. The tremor of hitting a solid object with a fleshy appendage traveled through my whole body, taking its sweet time as it rammed its way through my brain. I grimace as it does so, clenching my already aching teeth (my dentist told me I should wear a night guard. I said “Fuck that.” I mean, he was going to charge me five hundred bucks, just as a down payment. What else was I supposed to do?).

Light streams in from my crystal clear window, making my eyes burn as I open them, and creating a rather horrible migraine that shoots through my head like a bullet. I groan, thinking about how much I hate the sunlight. But thinking makes my head hurt, especially with my truck of a migraine. So I go back to sleep and wait for my phone’s soothing nine p.m. alarm to drag me out of my hellish nightmare of daylight.

* * *

“ _So long, farewell, alvederzane, goodnight… Goodnight… Goodnight!”_

The soothing voices of the Von Trapp family awaken me once more to get ready for my shift. I draw in a long, reluctant breath and raise my head off of the fluffed pillow, a fading impression of my head still apparent. I rub my temples with my strong, tapered fingers and letting my eyelids fall lazily and pleasurably shut. My pale feet fall to the floor with a soft thud. My toes squeeze the tiny threads that make my carpet a carpet. The miniscule fibers tickle in between my toes, making me let out a small giggle. Well, it was more like a huff of momentary happiness. I do not giggle. I haven’t giggle since I was nine. Twenty years. God, I make myself upset by facts like that. But whatever. It’s not like my mind can handle any other crap emotion, except for anger, depression, and exasperation. When I’m not any of those, I’m just… indifferent. Yep, that’s the word.

I press my tickled feet into the plush carpet and stand, letting the covers fall off of my frame. I allow my hands to drop from my temples, walking over to my phone and using the now unoccupied ligaments to type in my password (3825) and open my iTunes app, scrolling through my music, finally resting on “You Already Know” by _Bombay Bicycle Club_. The muted acoustic fills my lungs with a sigh of willingness, forcing me to set my phone down onto my bedside table, to walk into my bathroom, and to start the night with a nice, steamy shower. I strip my nightclothes off of my pale body, letting the chill of my unused apartment wash over my shoulders, my neck, my face, my waist, my hips, my legs, my feet, my erect dick (in the words of Agent Fox Mulder in episode eight, season one of the x-files, “Before anyone passes judgement, we are in the arctic.” Which is ironic because it is a quip signifying that Mulder is not gay in the presence of two naked men, and I am in fact very, _very_ gay).

I take a tentative step into the steaming water, testing if it is warm enough. The seemingly boiling droplets penetrate my pours, signifying that the water is just right. I step in fully and begin showering, letting the hot water blanket my naked self, the drippings of liquid seep into my hair, my skin, making me feel warm, almost—

No. Never _that_. Not after the incident. Not after Melford. That Goddamn sonavabitch. I lean against the front wall of the shower, both of my forearms pressing hard into the grout and white tile. I slam my fist into the same wall, feeling it tremble. My knuckles are numbed from the pain by my anger, however, so I don’t notice the blossoming blue and black that is shed upon them. Will he ever leave me alone? I mean, damn! That mother fucker…

I take a deep breath. No, I will not let it get to me. Not after it’s been a year. No. But this question still bugs me as I finish up my shower, dry off and get changed.

What the hell did he get from it?

* * *

My feet drag as I go to open the door of _The Royal Karma Klub_ , the quote-on-quote “fine establishment” where I work. Its name used to be “The King Karma Klub” back in the eighties, but… well, a lot of customers were lost after the Civil Rights movement occurred, but a lot of old, white, Anglo-Saxon males started coming. And then they died. So Balto had to change the name, and unfortunately business came back enough to have survived so that I could land a job.

I step inside, the familiar odor of BO, sweaty change, vodka, pre-ejaculatory fluid, and cheap cologne greeting me and entering my lungs. I wrinkle my nose in disgust as I normally do, the flashing lights bouncing around in my head as per usual. Thankfully, my hangover had gone away (with the help of coffee, Alka-Seltzer and an extremely greasy burger at Shop n’ Mart). But it is still unpleasant to have strobes in a darkened area.

I stroll behind the bar and tap a bored-looking Erwin on the shoulder. He turns, a little startled by the sudden interruption of whatever he was thinking, and smiles at me. He says something, but I can’t hear it over the blaring music.

“What?” I yell, in his face. He laughs (I can hear his booming laughter over anything), leaning in so he is right next to my ear. Even though Erwin’s a friend, he’s a rather _hot_ friend, so he being that close sends shivers through me.

“I SAID, are you hear to relieve me of my duties?” he screams back, almost breaking my eardrum. I stumble backward, clutching my ear in pain.

“What the hell, man?!” He laughs and cups his hand around his ear, playing that he didn’t know what I said when he heard me LOUD AND CLEAR! I roll my eyes and huff. He can be so fucking childish, sometimes.

He waves, grabbing his coat from under the linoleum countertop. Erwin sidles past me, grinning stupidly. God, that little fucktard gets under my skin sometimes. I sigh and lazily watch the strippers on the catwalk.

Hanji Zoe (or Heidi Glitterthighs—she used one of those stripper name generators where you use different letters of your name to find out your stripper name, and it stuck. She now wears glitter fishnets and sequins for most of her gigs.) and Petra Rall (or Petrifier—that one she came up with on her own. It’s pretty clever.) have taken the stage, taking turns on the poll or getting close to the audience. They are known around here as the dynamic duo, meaning that they make the most in tips than any other stripper working here. Which is not surprising. Neither are very self-conscious, and they dance well. No one else can really dance like them. Heck, I wish I could dance like that. And I don’t even like dancing! They also have the voices of angels, which scores extra points with the patrons. On Karaoke night, they always get the most in tips.

I never understood why they, especially Petra, chose this line of work. Hanji once told me that she had a degree from Harvard Law, and Petra said she was a veterinarian before all this. A lawyer, a vet, and a surgeon all end up working at a strip club. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. This particular strip club seems to be the dumping ground for all former-successful people. God, I want to know why.

I have the ten to one shift, which means I get all the drunks, all of the cheating husbands and boyfriends, all of the wash-ups— _all_ of them. They’re all guys because Balton is a sexist pig who won’t get his fat head stuck out of the sixties. I turn down the blaring music so I can hear the onslaught of orders that will inevitably come to me soon.

“Leviiiiiiii!” Hanji drawls, waddling up to the bar in her sequin-studded shell bra and her see-through mermaid tail. She had shed her silver stilettoes and adorned herself with her chunky black glasses. “Get me a Jack Daniels, on the rocks. I’ve had enough ball sweat rubbed on me to last a life time.”

“That’s pleasant,” I smirk, pouring the amber liquid into a crystal cup with rounded ice cubes chilling the glassy exterior. Hanji rolls her eyes and snatches the drink from the slick counter and gulps it all down in a single swig. She slams the glass back down onto the bar and beckons for more. I pour another round and hesitate with my hand around the neck of the bottle. I give in and gulp down a few searing mouthfuls.

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t like for me to be you right about now, princess” she grumbles, grasping the refilled Jack Daniels and slurping it, like she wanted to savor the taste. It’s my turn to roll my eyes.

“I have refined tastes, Hanji. You know that,” I sniff, leaning into the counter. I take another large swig, starting to see the club’s already almost undefined outlines become more blurry.

“Mm-hm. And I should believe that why…?” I narrow my eyes at her.

“You know I have high standards.”

“And I _also_ know that you haven’t had a good roll in the hay for at least... seven months? And I’m not counting Davido, Mr. Havershim’s little fuckboy.”

“Davido wasn’t a fuckboy. He was pure gold.” Another swig.

“You’ve gotta be kidding! That little fuckmonkey looks like he’s a fucking child prostitute!”

“I took it upon myself—hic—to introduce him to his new gay world.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Plus it—hic—relieved my stress to put my dick—hic—in something. Do you know how many gay guys are in this town? Take a gander, Glitterthighs. Go on.”

“Yeah, I know, Rivalle. The entire fucking male population. But they all have sticks to far up their asses to shove a whole dick up there. It’d kill them.”

“Exactly.” Hanji takes another sip of her whiskey and eyes me.

“I’m surprised that you haven’t started selling yourself yet,” she murmurs. “You depressed fuck.”

I stare at her, shocked. Hanji had never talked to me like that before. I grip the edge of the bar in anger and shoot her a deathly stare.

“The HELL did you just say to me, you washed-up bitch?!” I scream, releasing the counter and gripping her brown hair in my left fist. I smash the now-empty bottle of Jack Daniels onto the counter, the sound killing my ears. She looks at me, wide-eyed.

“L-levi! What did I do?! I only said I was surprised you hadn’t found any--!”

“Shut the fuck up, ssssshhit glasses! You dumb, ballistic whore! You know NOTHING! Absolutely NOTHING, you hear me?!” Something in my head—is that (gasp) rationality?—tells me to stop. But my whiskey-flooded mind won’t stop spilling its already bursting guts. My hands are oddly shaky, my vision awfully blurred. Are there… two Hanjis? I could’ve sworn she never had a twin sister. But maybe she’s right.

“Levi!” the two Hanjis say in muffled tones. I let their hair go (do I have four hands?) and stumble back, the bottle still clutched in my hand.

Maybe I am a depressed fuck.

No, no. It’s not a “maybe.”

It is a truth.

I drop the bottle and instead grab a large and sharp shard of glass that was residue from the initial break.

And I slash both of my depressed fucks of wrists and fall backward into the rows and rows of bottled alcohol, feeling the glasses tremble, the warm and sticky blood run away from my arteries and veins. I watch the beers, whiskeys, wines, vodkas, and other beverages housed in glass start to fall in an apparent slow motion until some unknown bottle of something crashes on my head, making me black out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know Levi ended up getting drunk rather quickly, but I wanted the chapter to end at some point. Plus, whiskey's pretty strong, and Levi drank almost a full bottle... oh, did I forget to mention Levi's an alcoholic? And to be clear, he hallucinated Hanji saying that-it was his subconcious that brought it out like that.
> 
> Well, it's late. I'm rambling, so don't mind my notes or whatever.
> 
> Reviews are appreciated! Drop one below, if you like! And thank you to:
> 
> CyanShadow11, Humanitys, Faolan_Rei, and those other six guests who gave kudos!  
> Also, thanks to TheNewCancer for commenting!
> 
> Virtual cookies to all.
> 
> Love you all!  
> -L.


	3. The Handler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RAPE-  
> THOUGH ONLY KIND OF EXPLICIT, IT IS STILL RAPE.  
> THIS CHAPTER MAY BE UPSETTING TO SOME PEOPLE.
> 
> However, to those of you who will stick around, this is from Eren's POV.  
> Enjoy!

**“I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?”**

― Laurie Halse Anderson, _Speak_

 

“Night shift, eh, Head?” asks the horse-faced 28 year old, leaning on his plastic mop handle, chewing pink Big League Chewing Gum. His stubble shades his pale skin, dark black unlike his weird-ass hair, which is blondish-brown. He is average sized, dressed in an all-grey janitor’s uniform which makes him look even grungier than he actually is.

He looks like a fucking homeless guy with nothing better to do with his life.

“Yes, Horse. For the next nine months. Or did you forget about Dr. Reiss is out on maternity leave and all of us nurses have to work double time for it,” I spit back. Why Dr. Reiss gets nine months when Nurse Generai only had about three weeks? I dunno. The janitor, Jean Kirstein, snorts like the true horse he is and practically flips his matted hair like a friggin mane and starts mopping. _Yeah, you keep mopping up nothing, you shit_.

I sigh and check my pager. Ward C. Great! I actually get the easier ward tonight. They’re all John or Jane Doe’s, unclaimed and knocked out cold by morphine. I’ll get a chance to sleep, perhaps. Or not. It all depends if my insomnia medicine works. If not, I’ll be forced to take some Emergen-ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ or whatever the fuck that shit is during my nap break. I shuffle towards Ward C in my blue-green scrubs, blinking tiredly. Always tired, but never getting any sleep.

The long and fluorescent-lit halls seem to grow longer and longer as I walk down each one to the elevator which I will take up to Ward C. There are closed doors of patients all around, some sleeping, some watching TV, some not even there, and only wilting flowers on their windowsills to remember that there was anyone there in the first place. So sad… just the amount of people who die in this hospital every day is speaks miles about how we’re forced to care for these people. I joined here to help people, not to be treated like shit and not heal anyone in the process. I grumble and shove my hands in my paper-thin pockets and look up to see the elevator door a few paces away. I press my finger on the button with an arrow pointing up and tap my foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator to come and whisk me away to the ward of sleeping nobodies. There is a small _ding_ and the doors slide open, revealing two people already inside; Dr. Marlow and Dr. Kepling. I force on a smile and step in. Dr. Kepling grins at Dr. Marlow and says a loud and relief-driven goodbye, walking out of the elevator before its doors close behind her retreating figure.

“Good evening, Doctor,” I say, the fake smile still plastered on my face. I press the button for level 5. Marlow smiles back and nods his head slightly.

“Good evening to you as well, Nurse Yeager. You are the new nurse I’ve been hearing about, correct? The one who saved Mr. Jensen and Mr. Padeleki, correct?” he mused, his eyes crinkling with an impressed sort of happiness. I smile genuinely this time and nod, a small blush of embarrassment painting my cheeks.

“Yes, sir,” I admit with another wider, sheepish grin. My pride swells just a little. Praised by Dr. Marlow? That’s an accomplishment! Marlow rests his hand on my shoulder and shakes it a little.

“Good for you, son,” he remarks, a little hint of pride in his voice. I nod and smile once more. But his hand stays glued to my shoulder, making my smile fall bit by bit. This is a little creepy… and a little more contact than I would have ever asked for.

“Say, Mr. Yeager, would you come up to my office for a bit? It won’t take long,” Marlow asks, removing his hand. I let out a small sigh of relief, but then clench my jaw. My shoulders tense. _Come up to his office?_ What does that mean? Am I getting fired? What the fuck is this?

“Of course, sir,” I strain, putting on yet another fake smile to cover my fear and anger that is about to boil over the surface of my face. Marlow huffs in a quiet appreciation and nods, pressing the number 6 on the elevator. Shit, this is a long elevator ride.

The elevator dings and ruptures the silence between Marlow and I. Level 5. Its doors open and close without anyone else stepping in. Up one more level in silence. I’m beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic until the doors slide open once more, and a chill breeze gushes in, carrying the scent of antiseptic and Windex. We step out together. Never having been to Marlow’s office, I am forced to follow behind him. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, clenching and unclenching my fists in my pockets, trying to relieve some of the building anxiety inside of me. We reach a plain tan door, and Marlow opens it with a key. He gestures for me to come in. I oblige, stepping inside of the large office with trembling fists. It has a wall of floor to ceiling windows that overlook the calm city below, the night lights casting their glimmerings up to create a small illusion of space, privacy. Marlow’s desk is situated so the view is behind him as he works. It is a sleek, black desk with a desktop monitor in the right hand corner. There is a black, high-backed leather office chair for him to sit in, and an uncomfortable-looking modern white chair for guests to sit in across from his large chair. The white walls are sparsely decorated with black and white pieces of modern art. The floor looks to be made of birch wood, and creates a more… cozy effect, I guess. There is another door that is opened, revealing a bed for naps. It’s a queen-sized mattress, which is weird for any doctor to have, but if anyone deserves it, it’s Doctor Marlow.

“Sit, please, Mr. Yeager,” commands Marlow gently, closing and locking the door behind him. I do as asked and sit in the (surprisingly comfortable) travesty of a chair. He walks quickly around to his side and smiles, flopping down into the black mass of a seat across from me. He looks me dead in the eye.

Dr. Marlow is young, not even 45 years of age yet, and the stress of being a doctor has not affected his looks one bit. He has brilliant white teeth, short yet silky looking hair that is the color of wheat on a summer day. His eyes are startlingly blue and welcoming, his skin tan but somehow still smooth and pale. Marlow’s jaw is defined and his cheekbones are high, creating a prince like appearance. He is tall and seems to have a well-defined body, but it is not all that clear if he does or if it’s just my imagination. I swallow. This man is a specimen to behold, and to want to hold, especially for a guy like me who is attracted to those who have a more, ah, _manly_ stature.

Marlow continues to stare me down like a mad scientist ready to dissect an animal. I look down at my knees, occasionally glancing up at him.

“You know, Eren,” he murmurs, making me jump and stare up at him expectantly. “Your eyes are the most beautiful shade of green I have ever seen. My face falls and my cheeks redden deeply. I tense up violently.

“S-sorry, sir?” I squeak, starting to be a little scared of this situation. His eyes don’t seem as welcoming now, more like a scrutinizing want, an animal drive. Like he knows I can’t refuse.

“I said your eyes are beautiful, Eren,” Marlow asserted, like he was now in control of everything. He gabs my upper arm with a large hand and pulls me forcefully towards him. I let out a yell, which he answers by clapping his free hand over my mouth. “I’d rather you not struggle against this, Yeager.”

I manage to claw the side of his face with my fingers as I struggle against his firm grasp. He narrows his eyes and slaps my face, stunning me for a few seconds. He vaults over the desk so he stands above my writhing form and wraps his arms around me so that my arms are pinned against my sides. He lifts up my body, in which I respond by kicking him in the nuts. He somehow withstands the blow and calls me a little bitch with an ice cold voice. His grip still firm, he carries me over to the queen sized bed and throws me down before mounting my body, not giving me a chance to escape.

“HELP!” I scream, only able to shout since his hand wasn’t covering my mouth. “HELP ME! OH GOD HE-!”

 _Boom_.

I’m out cold with one hard punch from the man above me.

***

Groggily, I wake up, not remembering when I fell asleep. All I know is that I just want to continue sleeping. I try to curl up against the soft sheets below me. But something pulls my arms and legs away from my body, making me unable to become smaller. I squint at my left arm, my tiredness making my eyes feel swollen. There… a pair of handcuffs attaches my arm to the bed. I pull on it experimentally and hear a faint jingle from the metal.

Oh, a yawn’s coming…

I try to open my mouth to let out a large yawn, but something presses harshly against my tongue, making me cough.

Which in turn wakes me fully.

Shit, I can’t move.

I stare up at the ceiling, fear coursing through my veins. I pull at my arms and legs, now painfully aware that I am firmly shackled to the bed. I try to yell, to call out, to get someone’s attention. I press back against the uncomfortable fabric blocking me from shouting out with my tongue. But all that comes out is a muffled “MMMPHM!”

I hear footsteps.

 _Oh shit_.

I hear a door open and close.

 _Oh shit_.

There he is. My captor. Dr. Marlow. Peering above me.

I try to thrash around, but to no avail. Marlow has chained me to the bed in such a way that I can barely move. My fear fills me from head to toe as I try to escape. Marlow only smiles as he disappears from view. I try to track him with my eyes, but I can hardly move my neck. Then I realize that I don’t need my eyes to follow him. Only my pain.

I feel numb, suddenly. My hope is buried in a pile of this numbness. My head falls back in shock as I feel, somehow muffled, Marlow’s penis entering my anus. I don’t exactly feel the pain at first. I just feel limp and powerless against the dominant monster entering me. I feel his hands gripping my hips as he thrusts, unable to do anything.

And then a sudden, stupid thought enters my head:

 _Oh. I’m naked_.

As Marlow continues the muffled thrusting, I feel my dignity, my humanity slip away. I can’t hear or feel anymore. Just nothingness.

I want it to end.

Anything is better than this.

I feel tears slip down my cheeks, silent yet cooling against my skin.

I feel blank; like nothing. Just… _blank_.

Marlow continues thrusting.

My eyes glaze over, not wanting to see anything. I vaguely feel Marlow exit me, and barely see his face above me, feeling his weight shift so he’s on top of me, the fabric being taken from my mouth, only to be replaced by another mouth. A foreign tongue gains entry to the inside of my mouth without my consent. I can’t even move; how can I expect myself to fight against a simple kiss?

I feel something spill on my chest, wet and sticky. I suppose I should have been a bit grossed out by it. But nothing feels real, and I can’t conceptualize the reality of this all. I just want this eternity to end. But it doesn’t even after I try to make it end by letting my eyes droop closed. Because then I feel everything that’s going on more sharply. So I force myself to keep my eyes open. I don’t make a sound. My expression doesn’t change. I’m just neutral. Which I guess makes the monster above me angered even more. Because the sexual acts stop. And the frustrated beating begins.

One slap to my right cheek. It stings but it’s nothing compared to what I just had to go through. Another slap. Another. Another. A punch down to my solar-plexus. The weight on me lifts, but then comes a sharp pain to my ribs. I cough out a small groan as the same spot gets hit over and over. A sensation of sharp pain signifies my ribs breaking. I hear a shout and the weight drops back on me. I wince slightly. Then he starts punching my face.

 _Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right._ Over and over. I whimper quietly with each blow. This seems to satisfy the monster on me, and he keeps going. It gets to be too much.

Too much.

 _Too much_.

I fall into the gentle grasp of unconsciousness once more, fading away.

***

“Get up,” a voice gripes. The spit from these words settle onto my face like hail the size of cars crashes onto and unsuspecting home. It jolts me awake. I sit up, panting. The first thing I feel is the pain in my stomach, ribs, and face. I cry out in pain and curl up, gasping and sobbing.

“SHUT UP!” the same voice shouts, directly into my ear. I go numb. That voice… Marlow… I shudder and freeze, fear gripping me hard. I feel cloth hit my exposed skin, but I don’t look at it. My eyes are wide with anxiousness and more fear. “Put it on.”

I don’t move.

“Put it _on_ , you little bitch!”

I grab the clothes beside me and get off the bed, hurriedly clothing my breaking body. I don’t dare look at him, but I sense him walking so he is behind me. He rests both of his hands on my shoulders, making me freeze once again. I suck in my breath and hold it.

“Now, you won’t tell anyone about this, or I will see you fired or jailed for forcing your needy little self upon me, cunt,” he says in his falsely kind voice. His fingernails dig into my shoulders. “After all—who would you believe? It’s a respected, awarded doctor against a penniless nurse with a vile temper. Now get the hell out of my office, you little rapist!”

And with that, he pushes me out of the bedroom, out of his office, and to the elevator where I stand for the next five minutes, once again numb.

What the hell just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was it?  
> I have been suffering from a case of the "Awful-Writing-Skills-At-Two-In-The-Morning-Syndrome," so this chapter did take a heck of a lot more time to come out. I did put in a lot of work in this chapter though, so I really hope it was worth the wait.  
> Please drop a review or kudos, even if you're a guest! I love to hear my reader's comments, critiques, questions, concerns, or ideas! It's all extremely helpful!  
> Thank you for reading!  
> -L.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this prologue! I'm really looking forward to writing this story... Hopefully, I'll have anew chapter every week. I heard that people on here don't like long chapters, so I'll try to keep them short.  
> Thanks for stopping by!  
> And thanks to TheNewCancer for helping me out with my account and stuff (Hint, you should check out her story, "Denial," if you like Ereri!).  
> Once again, thanks for stopping by!  
> And review if you have any suggestions (they are much appreciated).


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